


A Helping Hand

by AlexiaBlackbriar13



Series: lexi's summer sizzle fics [6]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Couch Cuddles, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Olicity Summer Sizzle, Pre-Relationship, Season/Series 02, Sickfic, antibiotics, medical side effects, olicity UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 23:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19778464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexiaBlackbriar13/pseuds/AlexiaBlackbriar13
Summary: Felicity helps Oliver recover after getting stabbed as he suffers some side effects from his antibiotics and other medication.





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> for the hurt/comfort bingo card prompt on card 3 xx
> 
> just a short fluffy thing. hope you enjoy!

Oliver’s never had to take antibiotics before for an Arrow related injury. Then again, he’s never suffered from a stab wound before that’s nicked his intestines and therefore had a major risk of infection.

The story they’ve told the public, Moira and Thea is that Oliver was mugged in the alleyway behind Verdant while Diggle was fetching the car. He was rushed to the hospital and quickly taken into surgery, and is on bed rest for the next three weeks, leaving Queen Consolidated in Isabel Rochev’s hands, with Walter Steele acting in his place as her co-CEO. The reality of it was that Oliver was taking on some Triad thugs down at the docks after they stole a shipment of insulin heading to Starling General Hospital, and ended up distracted, as he discovered a freight container full of human trafficking victims. While trying to free the women and children inside and protect them from the oncoming gunfire, one of the mob thugs managed to sneak up from behind and bury a knife in the vigilante’s stomach.

He changed Felicity and John to his medical proxies before the Undertaking, so he was released into their care when he was finally allowed to leave the hospital. Oliver refused to go home to the Queen mansion as the huge manor was empty, what with his mother still being in prison and Thea basically living at her boyfriend Roy’s place in the Glades these days. Felicity was appalled at his suggestion of staying down in the Foundry, so invited him to live at her apartment until he was medically cleared.

Part of his post-hospital medical care, though, involves antibiotics. Copious amounts of antibiotics, which Oliver hates with a rich, burning passion. Because they’re acting on his abdominal area, the drugs are causing a myriad of side effects that Oliver thinks are actually worse than his original stab wound. He gets feverish and nauseous and just feels terrible in general when taking them. His head pounds and aches, and his heart races; throwing up provides a temporary ten-minute reprieve before the cramps start up again. They’ve given him analgesics and antiemetics to take along with the antibiotics, but Oliver would rather just be in pain than live with blurry eyesight and this constant haze hanging over him, making him feel muggy and weak.

Most days, Felicity has to practically force the pills down his throat, or threaten to knock him out and administer them via IV while he’s unconscious. Oliver’s surprised by the fact that she’s actually a very caring nurse with great bedside manner when it comes to dealing with sick whiny people - although not all that surprised. Felicity is and always has been a very kind person with an understanding and considerate nature. She’s firm when she needs to be and pushes him when required, but seems attuned and connected to his mental state and emotions in a way that Oliver has never experienced with another human being before.

“You need to stop working out and actually rest,” Felicity tells him, as Oliver does shirtless press-ups in her apartment living room while she makes coffee for them both one morning. “You’re going to tear your sutures again.”

“Can’t do nothing,” Oliver grunts.

He continues doing press-ups, the burn in his arms and shoulders grounding him. Being cooped up recently has made him restless, and since he’s been banned by Felicity and Diggle from putting on the hood or even touching his bow or the salmon ladder, sit-ups and press-ups, with the occasional run outside around the neighborhood park, is what he does to quiet his screaming mind.

He’s halfway through his forty-third press-up when his arms fail, suddenly turning to jelly. The archer’s torso collapses to the floor with a loud thud and Oliver lies face-down, his cheek resting on the scratchy rug beneath him. He breathes heavily, his heart jack-rabbiting in his chest. That shouldn’t have happened.

“That sounded painful,” Felicity says with a wince. She strides over and stops in front of Oliver so she can put the two coffee mugs down on the nearest counter. The blonde’s pajama bottoms, covered with adorable fat cartoon corgi dogs, swim in Oliver’s vision. “Need some help getting up?”

“No,” he replies.

He makes no move to get up.

“Are you just gonna lie there?” Felicity asks, after a couple of seconds.

Oliver waves his hand. “Probably.” The floor is pleasantly cold against his bare skin because of his raised temperature. He’s beginning to experience these stab throbbing spasms in his abdomen, most likely from straining himself too much. His muscles haven’t been properly stretched in weeks.

“Can’t be comfortable.”

“Not really.”

“... you really just don’t care, do you?”

“No.”

“Okay, c’mon, big guy.”

Sighing, Felicity kneels down and prods Oliver until he rolls over onto his back. Helping him up onto his wobbly feet, she gets her shoulder underneath his armpit and gingerly wraps her arms around his waist to support him enough to get the archer onto the couch. She makes sure not to touch the area where his wound is stitched and dressed as she carries him, but as soon as he’s lying splayed out on the couch, Felicity has no qualms against poking the bandages.

Peeling them back, she emits a disgusted, annoyed noise at what she sees. “Sutures are loose. At least you haven’t torn them.”

“It’s fine,” he says, staring up at the ceiling. It’s spinning. Oliver decides not to mention that to Felicity. It’s either due to the pain he’s in, or the antibiotics’ side effects. “I should have stopped at thirty.”

“You shouldn’t be doing press-ups at all,” Felicity huffs. “And I personally think it’s ridiculous that you can do over twenty without wanting to die. I can barely manage five.” Pulling out the first aid kit they’ve been keeping next to her TV, she starts changing the dressing on Oliver’s wound. It’s already partially healed, and appears to be doing well. There’s no sign of infection. Once the new bandages are applied, she drops a tender kiss to his forehead and backs off to pass him his coffee. “Don’t you even think about doing sit-ups later. Walter needs me helping out at QC today - I’m the CEO’s executive assistant, and since he’s acting CEO at the moment, I technically work for him - so you’ll be here by yourself. Dig will check up on you at 11am and then 3pm. I’ll be home around six. Think you’ll be able to cope on your own?”

Oliver quirks an eyebrow, sipping at his coffee. “Felicity, I survived for five years on a deserted island. I think I’ll be okay for -” he counts on his fingers - “ten hours by myself in your apartment.”

Felicity looks disbelieving, but shrugs and nods with a little smile. She leaves for work soon after, reminding Oliver that he can access her Netflix account on her TV if he gets bored and order delivery to the door if he gets hungry. She also sternly reminds him of when he next needs to take his meds, which is in forty minutes, and then every three hours after that, informing him that she’ll know if he doesn’t. He rolls his eyes and wishes her a good day at the office. Promising to text her to keep her updated throughout the day, he accompanies her to the front door, giving her a hug before she leaves.

“Are you _certain_ you’ll be alright?” she asks worriedly. “I know all the drugs can make you feel… weird. I’m sure I can call Walter and tell him you need me at home today because you’re not feeling great -”

“Felicity, I don’t need you to watch me twenty-four-seven,” he cuts in, trying to make his voice reassuring. “The doctors said I’ll be fine by myself as long as don’t do anything strenuous that could aggravate the wound. I promise I don’t work out at all unless you’re here to keep an eye on me. I’ll stick to the couch and watch some movies or something, and take a nap this afternoon. I’ll be okay. I swear.”

And he truly believes that. Oliver thinks - knows - he’s going to be fine. It might suck and he’ll probably go stir-crazy, but he’ll survive. The archer gives Felicity another short embrace, closing his eyes as her soft hair brushes against his face, before waving goodbye and watching as she leaves.

Really, Felicity’s worrying for no reason, Oliver decides.

An hour later, he realizes that Felicity did maybe have a good reason to be concerned. Because he’s slipped and fallen in the shower and he can’t get up. The archer realizes now that it was a very bad idea to try and shower directly after taking his horrible antibiotics. He also forewent his painkillers and antiemetics, which he’s now regretting. His waterproof dressing is half falling off and his legs are all cramped, so standing is practically impossible. He’s in an agonizing amount of pain because of the pressure being placed on his stab wound; several of his sutures have popped, making the cut bleed sluggishly.

Diggle isn’t due to arrive for another two hours. Oliver struggles to think coherently due to how he feels as if he’s been repeatedly struck by a train, his brain filled with dark, stormy fog, but he realizes quickly that he can’t wait for his bodyguard to arrive and help him.

Groaning, Oliver manages somehow to crawl out of the shower onto the bathroom floor, his stomach doing somersaults. He’s naked and dripping wet, shampoo suds caking his hair, but he doesn’t care - all he’s focusing on is grabbing his cell phone, which he’s now immensely relieved he brought in with him to place on the sink counter. He ends up being sick into the toilet before fires off a text.

_To: Felicity Smoak_  
In my defense  
I didn’t think a shower would count as ‘strenuous’

_From: Felicity Smoak_  
oh god. oliver what did you do. whats happened.  
do i need to call you an ambulance

_To: Felicity Smoak_  
No ambulance please.  
But I can’t stand and my stitches might need to be re-done

_From: Felicity Smoak_  
did you have a shower after your antibiotics  
but without taking your painkillers and antiemetics  
AGAIN??  
no, wait, don’t answer that. I know you did  
dammit oliver  
look, just  
i’ll go and speak with walter now  
i’ll tell him you had an accident and need me back home.  
try and get yourself relatively dry with some pants on for when i arrive.  
DON’T tear your stitches anymore. are you bleeding?

_To: Felicity Smoak_  
Not much.

_From: Felicity Smoak_  
so yes??  
you’re going to be the death of me, i swear, oliver queen  
ok, walter signed me off for the day.  
sit tight. i’ll be with you in 20

Oliver pats himself dry with a towel, scrubbing his hair to get the soap out, but his skin remains damp as he wrestles underwear and pants onto his tingling legs. The clothes soak up the water and hang low on his hips so they don’t disturb his wound. He sits on the toilet seat and flashes Felicity a sheepish grin when she arrives, appearing frazzled and anxious. As soon as she sees him, she throws her arms up in the air, muttering under her breath about how she apparently can’t even leave him alone for an hour.

“I’m sorry,” he offers quietly, as she’s forced to help him stand.

“You didn’t know this would happen,” Felicity responds, her voice pinched with the effort of half-bearing his weight. “You haven’t had a problem taking a shower in a week. Although that was because you actually took your meds.”

Oliver grumbles. “The painkillers and antiemetics make me drowsy.”

“Better you be drowsy in the shower than nearly passing out, falling over and ripping your sutures,” the blonde snorts.

They make their way slowly out of the bathroom to the living room. Her hands are slick against his wet body. Oliver is sure he’s blushing, but at least Felicity’s cheeks are turning red as well. He’s been around her shirtless before, had her touch him when shirtless before, but there’s something a lot more intimate about it when he’s wet, the water erasing whatever physical boundary there was between them and causing this strange sexual tension but he knows the both of them are feeling. The pain in his abdomen has been replaced with this slow-burning, licking heat from an instinctual desire. He’s not all that ashamed to admit he’s attracted to Felicity - she’s a beautiful woman, after all - but he’s embarrassed he’s being so affected right now.

“You’re so lucky Dig taught me how to suture,” Felicity tells him, snickering lightly.

Her hands are remarkably steady as she injects him with a local anesthetic, which Oliver is impressed by, considering she hates needles. The archer stretches out on the couch cushions while Felicity kneels beside him, beginning to replace the torn stitches, sticking her tongue out in her concentration. She works quickly but confidently, and soon is slapping bandages on top of the wound, patting his shoulder and informing him she’s finished.

Oliver swings his legs off the couch, sitting up so he can dry swallow the pills that Felicity brings him that he should have taken, but didn’t. Then, before the blonde can depart, he grabs her hand, squeezing it gratefully. Tugging her down onto the couch with him, they sit in companionable silence for a good minute before Oliver fishes the remote out from where it’s squished between his thigh and the side of the couch, offering it to her.

“You know I should get back to QC,” Felicity sighs, but her actions negate her words, as she snuggles up to his side and rests her head on his shoulder. “Walter might have signed me off for the day, but I should still probably go back. I’m the CEO’s executive assistant -”

“And I’m the CEO,” Oliver interrupts. “So you’re _my_ assistant. But more importantly, you’re my best friend. And I’m sick and injured, and need my best friend here to support me. Show me sympathy, I was stabbed.”

“Fine,” Felicity says, obviously reckoning it would be pointless to argue. “We’re watching _The Lion King_.”

“ _The Lion King_ is it,” he agrees. He watches her as she flicks through Netflix to find the movie. “Thank you for looking after me. You’ve been incredibly patient and courteous, letting me stay with you, when I’ve been - well, a bit of an asshole.”

“You were stabbed, so I didn’t mind you being a bit petulant,” Felicity chuckles. “I would be an absolute nightmare if you were looking after me when I was stabbed.”

Oliver shakes his head protectively. “You’re _never_ getting stabbed.”

“I should hope not. I don’t think it would be very fun.”

“No. It’s shit.”

Felicity fails to muffle her laugh with her hand.

“Nothing’s worse than having to take all these different drugs, though,” Oliver frowns, picking up the codeine pill blister pack that’s been propped on the couch arm next to him. “The doctors think I must have an intolerance, or a shifted metabolism. I’ve got side effects from every medication I’ve taken since I got back from the island.”

“You should get it tested at the hospital,” Felicity hums, flicking her fingers along his forearm as the Disney logo appears on screen. “You don’t often get to use proper medical facilities when you’re hurt as the Arrow, so while you’re known to be injured as Oliver Queen, it might be good to get any medical problems you have checked out by actual doctors.”

“I hate hospitals almost as much as I hate drugs.”

“Yeah, I figured that out when you commented that you were going to climb out the forty-fifth story window to escape, for the second time, and were entirely sincere.”

He grins, ducking his head. “Seriously, though, thank you. For everything.”

“You’re welcome.” She shoots him a winning smile that transforms into a smirk. “I’ll accept your gratitude in the form of another bottle of Lafite Rothschild 1982.”

He flicks her nose. “If I’m not allowed alcohol while I’m on these stupid antibiotics, then you’re not either.”

“That’s grossly unfair.”

“Shh. The movie’s starting.” Oliver leans over to press his lips gently to Felicity’s temple. “I’ll get you your wine. _After_ my round of antibiotics ends.”

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed xx
> 
> tumblr: @alexiablackbriar13  
> twitter: @lexiblackbriar


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